


Shadow's Edge

by SaenaLife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Claustrophobia, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaenaLife/pseuds/SaenaLife
Summary: Fastest. Hunt. Ever.





	Shadow's Edge

Dark seems like too shallow a word for this. It goes beyond the absence of light - more like the light has never existed here at all, despite the fact that it hasn't even been 15 seconds since I slammed down the breaker switch, plunging the bunker into a blackness so complete I can feel it on my skin.

Adrenaline is ripping through me, setting off a flutter in the muscles of my chest that wants to turn into full-blown fear paralysis. But neither fight nor flight are going to help me right this second, so I shove them down and  _focus._  I need to slow my heart rate enough to hear it coming for me over the roaring in my ears. Deep, quiet breaths, every sense straining - even my useless eyes. Nothing yet.

A soft rustle outside the door brings my head around in a silent swivel, sweaty fingers tightening on my knife. If I can get one good shot at the neck, maybe I can bring it down before it kills me or anyone else. No choice but to try.

The noise isn't repeated and I still can't see for shit, but the hairs on my arms feel the air pressure change in the room when something comes to stand in the doorway. I know- I  _know_ \- exactly where it is, and maybe it's the kind of hubris that gets hunters killed, but I'm strangely certain I'll be able to cut this thing's throat in one go, in spite of the inky black surrounding us. I shift minutely, prepping my muscles for the leap, blade raised and already in motion when a familiar scent reaches me.

My body knows what to do before I do, and my swing goes wide. I throw myself back, instinctively aware of the danger as the hiss of a blade slices the air an inch from my face, wafting another faint breath of pine and musk my way. My voice is a husky whisper as I retreat.

“Dean?!”

*********

_10 minutes earlier_

Warm lights gleam on the polished wood of the library table where I'm sitting, content in the silence of the bunker and the task in front of me. Research is probably my favorite part of the job. Snooping around fascinating old documents, the excitement of finding that first piece of data that will lead to more, the moment when it all clicks into place and I know I've solved the mystery - all of it. Especially the part where I get to come hang out with the Winchesters and putter around their envy-inducing archives to my heart's content.

I try to make myself useful to repay them for the privilege, so once I was done transcribing the Enochian charms I needed into my journal, I had called Sam to offer my help on their hunt. Turns out, the brothers had already dispatched the witch responsible for the series of mysterious deaths. They were on their way back to the bunker and were bringing some interesting and potentially dangerous items they'd found in his apartment. One artifact in particular had Sam fascinated, so he had sent me a picture and asked me to do the preliminary digging.

I'm two hours deep into the lore and just starting to make some really solid progress when the door at the top of the stairs opens with a clang.

“Hey, you made good time!” I call out, not bothering to shift from my comfy reading posture. They never let me help them with their bags anyway.

“Yeah, wanted to beat the snow storm comin' in.” Dean nods at me as he clomps down the stairs with Sam close behind, both of them loaded down with duffel bags and weapons. “If it dumps like they say, you might be sticking around a couple more days than you thought.”

“ _Sigh._ ” I grin around the word. “I guess I'll just have to put up with the regular meals, sleeping in an honest-to-god-not-a-motel-bed, and hanging out with you losers until the roads clear.”

“Well, we got plenty of whiskey to get you through.”

“Thank fuck for that,” I chuckle, turning to catch Sam's amused look. “Glad you're back, though. I'm getting into some pretty creepy stuff on that artifact and I'd like to take a look at the real thing, make sure I'm on the right track.”

“Sure thing.” Sam drops his bag on the other table and digs around for a second, before pulling out a small bundle wrapped in velvet. He unwraps it as he crosses to where I'm sitting, revealing a delicate-looking stone disc.

Intent on the symbols carved around the edge, I bobble it a little and almost drop it when he passes it over, but manage catch it with my other hand, losing my place in the book in front of me. “Damn it,” I mutter, embarrassed and irritated with myself.

“No harm, no foul,” Sam reassures me with a pat on the arm, and I'm immediately distracted by the smell of the outdoors on his coat. It must be really cold out, because it reminds me of what my grandma used to call the iron wind, the one that howls across the open spaces and sneaks into small ones during the depths of winter. I want to fill my lungs with it, but when I do, there's something else.

“Um,” I wrinkle my nose, “did you guys change clothes after you took care of that witch? 'Cause I don't want to be rude, but I just caught a whiff of something rank.”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, it wasn't that messy.”

“Maybe you stepped in something then. Tell you what, you go drop your stuff and maybe/definitely change your shoes. I'll grab us some beers and we'll meet back here in five to go over the stuff I've found.”

“Deal.” They turn down the hall to their rooms.

Setting the disc carefully down onto its velvet, I head into the kitchen. It's only as I'm opening the third beer that I notice a smear of blood on the label. Remembering a vague sting on my finger from moments ago, I glance down to confirm that yes, I did manage to get a paper cut in my effort to catch the artifact.

The artifact.

Blood.

Oh no.

Sucking on the injured finger, I head back to the library, telling myself I'm worried about nothing.  _There was barely any blood, right? Paper cuts take a minute to start bleeding, so there probably wasn't any contact anyway. I'm sure it's fine._  The dread in the pit of my stomach says differently.

When I get there, nothing has changed so far as I can tell. Keeping a wary eye out, I pick up the disc and examine it for traces of blood, but don't see anything. For some reason, that doesn't make me feel much better. I'm still frowning down at it when Dean strolls in.

“Thought you were gettin' some beers?” The teasing smile on his face fades when he sees the expression on mine. “What? What's wrong?”  
Feeling foolish, I admit, “I might have bled on it.”

“You what?” Sam's voice makes me jump a little as he steps in from the hallway.

“I got a paper cut and I might have gotten blood on this thing,” I say, setting it carefully down again.

Leaning his shoulder against a pillar, Dean waves a hand dismissively. “S'probably nothing. Even if you did, who knows if that would even do anything?”

“According to the stuff I've been reading, I'd say there's a solid chance it  _would_  do something and that something is guaranteed to be bad.” The more I think about it, the worse I feel.

“Why, what did you find?” Sam pulls up a chair, ready to listen and analyze.

“It's from a small cult in southeastern India, about 9th century. They used it in their initiation ceremonies, to bring forth something they called the Devourer.”

“That can't be good.”

“They would herd all the recruits into a maze, guarding the only entrance so no one could escape. Then they would use this disc to call on the creature, offering a sacrifice. It would show up to kill and eat one of the initiates, then the guys in charge would somehow send the monster back where it came from, and the survivors would become full-fledged members of the sect. I got the impression it would just keep on killing if they didn't banish it.”

“Did you find anything about how they used it to call the monster? Any mention of blood being the key?”

“Not that I found so far, but we all know how common that kind of thing is.” I pause, considering. “And I just... I have a bad feeling about this.”

Dean straightens, heading for the stack of books on the nearest table. “Then the three of us should keep digging, see if we can figure out exactly how those nutjobs used this thing.”

I'm still on edge, scanning the nooks and crannies of the room for movement, or anything else strange. So when Dean moves, my gaze falls naturally onto the empty shadows of the doorway behind him. Before I can look away, before I can even blink, between one second and the next, something appears out of thin air.

It's so fast, I can barely get a decent look at it. Moving in total silence, it's a blur of mottled red and sickly grey, with too many snake thin limbs that reach out vicious grasping claws toward Dean.

Even as I shout a warning, it slams into him and spins away, raking those claws across his back. He grunts in pain and drops to one knee. I'm out of my chair, the knife from my ankle sheath already in my hand, and I can see that Sam's in motion too, his gun drawn. Before either of us can take another step, the thing darts past us and disappears at the edge of a bookshelf.

“Fuck! Where'd it go?” Sam turns a fast circle to survey the room, weapon raised and ready.

My brain is practically whirring as the things I've read and the things I've seen start to coalesce. “I don't know, but it'll be back, and soon.” Still thinking hard, I turn to where Dean's on his feet again with his own gun out, looking pissed. Pushing on his shoulder, I spin him so I can get a look at his back. “The shirt's a total loss, but I don't think you'll need stitches.”

“Well it hurts like a sonovabitch! Why the hell would it bother to sneak up on me and not just take me out?”

“Yeah, I forgot to mention the really fun bit, about how it likes to toy with its prey first, by popping in and out to take a swipe at whoever's closest before choosing its kill.” The puzzle pieces start to click into place. “And I think I just figured out how it travels. If I'm right, we  _have_  to make sure it doesn't get out of the bunker.”

“Why? What's the story?”

“It sounds crazy, but I think it's using the edges of shadows to move around.”

“Huh?”

“Listen, I saw it come and I saw it go, and both times were right where the lamps cast shadows, at the doorway,” I point to each location in turn, “and at the bookshelf.” Waving a hand at the disc, I go on. “And there's a line in the inscription that says 'the Devourer travels at the border of day and night'. I couldn't figure out what it meant, but those words can also mean light and dark, or light and  _shadow_.”

“That makes a bad kind of sense.” Dean's face is serious as the implications hit him. “If it can jump from one shadow to another, how far can it go? I mean, could it jump from a shadow here to one in China?”

“I don't know, but I think we should assume the worst. If it gets out into the world, it'll be impossible to catch, and a lot of innocent people will die.”

Still vigilant, Sam sets his jaw. “Then we gotta figure out how to send it back to where it came from.”

“If that ritual is in the lore books, I haven't found it yet and I don't think we're going to get a lot of time to research.”

“It seems like all it took to open the door was a smear of your blood. I say we try the simplest thing first and see if it'll close the door, too.”

“Might as well.” With a shrug, I raise my knife and jab the point into the meat of my thumb, just enough to bring a drop of blood to the surface.

As I do, Dean expresses his skepticism. “Yeah, but how do we know if it works?”

“I guess we just wait to see if it shows back up.” I gesture for Sam to hand me the artifact. ”It's probably hungry, so it won't be gone lon-”.

The shape comes out of nowhere. I don't even see it at first, not until Sam stumbles forward and one nasty looking limb slashes at his face. Blood blooms across his cheek, but I tear my eyes away, trying to follow the unnaturally fast motion of the thing before it disappears again. I get a vague impression of a stunted torso and a gaping mouth that dominates the misshapen lump of a head, but then a tinkling crash has me whirling to stare in horror at the pieces of ceramic disc scattered on the floor next to the table.

Sam and I share a look of dismay as Dean hollers, “I saw it! It disappeared into the shadow of that chair!”

It hits me like a lightning bolt - what we have to do. There's only one way to make sure this thing never leaves the bunker, but there's no time to explain.

“Stay here!” I shout as I take off running, past the brothers, heading for the hallway as fast as my legs can carry me.

Skidding through the corridors, I spare a second to be grateful that my fascination with the bunker led me to investigate as many nooks and crannies as possible during my visits. That familiarity lets me take the most direct route to the electrical room and the master switch I remember seeing there.

I'm two turns away when I again smell the odor of rot in the dead of winter. Hooking a hand onto the nearest doorway, I let my momentum swing me into one end of the shower room, just as I feel the scrabble of a claw drag across the back of my sweatshirt. Without slowing down, I move at a dead run down the length of the room to the door at the far end, chancing a look back as I grab for the door handle and throw it shut behind me. I only have a confused impression of eerily sinuous shapes reaching for me before the door slams, catching two of the limbs as it latches. There's a howl of frustrated rage from behind the door, but I'm already off, turning the last corner into the electrical room and pulling down the breaker handle so hard I think it might come off in my hand.

*********

_Now_

“Dean?!”

“Yeah!” We're both talking in low hissing whispers, though I don't even know if the creature has ears.

“Dude, you scared the fuck out of me! I could've killed you!” I press a hand to my thumping heart, knife still at the ready in the other hand.

He muffles a soft snort. “You coulda tried. Anyway, why'd you have to turn off  _all_  the fucking lights?”

“The key broke! We can't send it back to wherever, and we both know what happens if it gets loose. No light means no shadows it can escape through.”

“And now we have to hunt this thing in the dark.”

“Cheer up. As soon as it's dead, we'll turn on every light in the place. Either that or -”

Dean interrupts me. “Or it kills us all, and then starves to death in the dark once our bones are picked clean.”

“Sooo...” I offer weakly, “win-win?”

I can practically hear the glare aimed in my direction, but he pushes past it. “Whatever, let's just get this over with. Stick close and we'll head back to the library. Sam said he was fine, but I don't think any of us should be flyin' solo right now, too easy to pick us off one by one.”

“Let's check the shower room first. I slammed the door on a couple of its tentacle-thingies. Maybe we got lucky and it's still stuck there.”

“When are we ever lucky?”

Not this time, apparently. By the time we creep our way back down the hall and around the corner, both of us with a knife in one hand and trailing the wall with the other, there's neither sound nor smell to indicate the monster is still nearby. In fact, the only trace we find is the fallen ends of its two arms, that nearly trip me as I approach the door to listen for movement. Slipping a little in the pool of viscous fluid that I assume is its blood, I grunt as I wrench myself upright and just barely manage to not land on my ass.

“Shhh! It might still be in there.” Even in a near-inaudible whisper, Dean's exasperation is evident.

Knowing he can't see me, I roll my eyes, but keep my voice equally low. “I doubt it, but we should cover both doors, just in case. I'll go around to the other one and you open this one in like 15 seconds. If it's in there, you'll flush it right at me.”

“Nah, I'll go around and you open the door.”

Having plenty of experience with Dean's stubborn insistence on taking the most dangerous assignments, I don't waste time arguing.

“Fine. Is 15 seconds enough?”

“Plenty,” I hear as he moves away.

So I wait in the dark, trying not to let adrenaline rush my counting. I really expect that the thing is long gone by this point, but that doesn't stop all my hairs from standing on edge as I take a firm grip on the knife and reach for the door handle with my off hand. The brass is cool under my fingertips as I slowly twist the knob.

Pushing the door gently inward, I hardly have time to process the smell of rotting meat before a slithery rush of movement sounds from directly in front of me. Raising my knife, I stumble back a half-step as cold, vaguely sticky vines clutch at my arm, twisting and  _pulling._

“Shit!” I yelp, deciding in that split second to rush forward instead of falling back. Ignoring the sting of a slash across my bicep, I spring toward where I think its torso is, leading with my knife. A thrill of primal satisfaction goes through me when the blade makes contact. It's not a square-on hit, I can tell, but it's enough that I feel the creature recoil and the grip on my arm loosens. I go to strike again, but it launches itself at me, bowling me over backward into the hallway. To my complete surprise, it doesn't continue attacking. Instead, it scrabbles away, careening into one of the walls by the sound of it.

Before I can regain my feet, I hear footsteps pounding down the hallway. I don't know how Dean manages it, but the next thing I hear is the impact of a full body tackle. There's a quick scuffle and a fair bit of swearing to help me locate the pair, so I head that way, hoping at least to remove a few more limbs. I don't even make it two feet when I hear Dean shout in frustration and pain, followed by a rush of movement down the hall.

“We can't let it get away! C'mon!” Dean's footsteps race after it and I follow close behind.

At least, I think I'm close behind, but Dean is a much faster runner than I am and I fall further back with every second. I lose track of exactly where in the maze of corridors we are, but I can hear them running ahead of me, so I keep on. They turn a corner and the steps start to fade. I push hard to increase my speed, sprinting as best I can with one hand stretched out to brush along the surface of the wall.

As soon as I round the same corner, uncertainty floods me. It must be a four-way junction, because confusing echoes fly back and forth, making it hard to tell exactly which direction they're headed. I continue on a few more feet before the rapidly fading sounds tell me I've chosen the wrong way.  Turning around, I race straight back across the intersection, but by the time I come to yet another corner, the footsteps have fallen to silence. 

I am alone in the dark.

“Dean?” I hiss, and immediately regret it. Hearing my own voice only emphasizes the lack of any other sound and I have to fight down panic as a wave of claustrophobia swamps me. Doesn't matter that I know I'm in a wide-ass corridor, I can't  _see_ how wide it is and the darkness threatens to smother me. I cautiously edge toward where my fingers dig at the grout line between the tiles of the wall, half-certain (and terrified) that moving in any other direction will bring me smack up against unknown somethings that might have crept up on me in the dark.

 _Get a grip!_ I scold myself, fighting for breath. I press against the wall behind me, in the vain hope that the solid pressure on the back of my skull will help me focus and get back into the game. It doesn't work. Instead, it feels like the dark is pouring into me through my eyes and ears and nose, clogging my throat and filling me with a cold impenetrable gloom like what must exist at the bottom of the ocean. All I can do is screw my eyes shut and try to remember sunlight.

Several dragging seconds (or maybe minutes) go by as I struggle to overcome the panic, my nerves and senses both stretched wire thin. Eventually though, my heart rate slows a little with the continued silence and my breathing eases as I inch my way back from the edge of pure animal terror.

Slowly, I force myself to straighten from the wall. It would be so easy to just stay here for a while longer, but I know I have to get moving again. I can't stand the thought of cowering here in the dark while the brothers take care of the danger I unleashed on the world.

So I unclench all of my fear-tense muscles, take a few deep breaths, and begin to make my way cautiously forward. I have no idea where I am, but decide that I'll just take every right hand turn. I have to come across something familiar eventually, right?

Every noise seems unnaturally loud in the vacuum left by the missing hum of bunker machinery and my own footsteps are starting to unnerve me again. I slow down even more, not quite moving on tiptoe, but pretty damn close. I've just turned another corner when something soft brushes against my outstretched arm. Yelping, I leap back, but my feet get tangled and I almost fall, banging my knee against something that hits the wall with a loud clatter. I freeze, waiting for some hint of where the attack might come from.

Nothing happens.

My knee throbs and I reach down to that level, waving my hand back and forth until I come into contact with a hard, angular surface. My mind blanks for a moment, until I remember the small bench and coathooks in the hallway outside the garage. Sure enough, when I reach a little higher, I recognize the feel of cotton fabric, the sleeve of mechanic's coveralls that Dean sometimes wears for particularly messy maintenance.

At least now I know where I am and a deep sigh of relief escapes me. The war room isn't that far away. Sam's there and I am so  _ready_  to not be alone in the dark. I turn in that direction and then I'm falling in the most surreal way. It's like slow motion through the velvety darkness, enough time to recognize the tell-tale smell of rot and the tendrils looped around my ankles in the split second before I hit the ground with a brain jarring thud.

Then it's on me and everything starts moving double time.

Pain flares through the hip and shoulder that took the brunt of the impact, then sharpens abruptly into stabbing pains in my calf when the creature sinks its teeth into me.

“AH! Motherfucker!” I shout, kicking out with the other foot, bursts of agony radiating through my leg every time I hit the target. The jaws don't loosen at all and I can feel a multitude of limbs beginning to tighten around my own. Knowing I have to switch tactics before I'm totally immobilized, I bend for the reach, slashing at its face with my knife. There's a moment of elation when it lets go of my leg, immediately followed by a flood of terror when the whole thing surges forward.

It's all I can do to get my forearms up between us in time. I can't see the face straining toward me, a few shuddering inches away, but the smell of decay on its breath is thick and choking. As my lungs start to burn and muscles quiver with the effort of holding it off, I know it's just a matter of time. I'm gonna die here, alone in the dark.

_I hope those assholes don't turn on the lights until it's dead!_

Just as this thought (which I fully expect to be my last) crosses my mind, I hear the most beautiful sound ever in the history of anything.

“Hey!”

It's Sam's voice echoing from down the hall, not too far away. Fighting back nausea, I force the festering air into my lungs.

“Here! 'S got me pinned!”

I swear the thing redoubles its effort to get at me and I can't even summon the breath to tell him to hurry. My arms are in the process of buckling under the strain when the pressure abruptly eases just enough for me to free my knife hand. Still fending off the persistent attacks with the other, I'm ready to start stabbing, but I can't tell where Sam is.

“Tell me what's happening!”

“I got 'im around the neck,” he grunts with the effort of holding it back, “torso's clear...”

Perfect. At least all the grappling means I know exactly where to strike. And I do strike, hard and immediate, aiming right for where I know the center of the chest should be. I'm sure I feel the tip of the knife hit, but before it can do any real damage, a tentacle whips out and knocks the blade away. Cursing, I try again and again, but its reflexes are lightning fast and it deflects every lethal blow into a shallow scratch.

“We gotta hold the arms! I can't get past them!”

“I'm trying, but there's too many!”

One slashing claw carves across my brow, sending a sheet of stinging blood into my eyes. Doggedly determined, I keep attacking, refusing to admit that it's a stalemate.

“Sam?!” The shout and the pounding footsteps announce Dean's arrival, surprisingly close.

“Dean, over here! Help me hold its arms back!”

Almost immediately, the tide begins to turn in our favor (if you don't count the knee to the ribs I get from one of the brothers in the midst of battle). Say what you will about the Winchesters, they are masters of close-in combat. Finally, they create a big enough opening in the defenses for my blade to sink home, with a sensation like plunging a chef's knife into a ripe watermelon.

There's a shrill, wailing shriek, loud enough to make me worry about burst eardrums before it fades away. As silence falls, so do the tentacles wrapped around us, landing on the floor with faintly audible thuds as the creature goes limp in our hands.

With monumental effort, I move to push the body off of me with arms that are suddenly made of lead, soft and heavy. One or the other Winchester helps me roll it to the side, but I never take my hand off of the knife still buried in its chest. If this thing is just stunned or playing possum, I'll know the second it so much as twitches. For the moment, though, I just lie there, heaving great gasps of breath as the adrenaline starts to ebb.

“So,” I wonder out loud, feeling each bruise and gash throb with its own unique hurt, “which one of you is gonna go turn on the lights and which one is getting me a whiskey?”

********

The End


End file.
